


Less-Strange Bedfellow

by nic



Category: The Lone Ranger (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic/pseuds/nic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Reid comes to terms with being an outlaw and his unlikely new partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less-Strange Bedfellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



> For lynndyre - enjoy! I tried to meet your prompt as much as possible and had fun writing in a fandom I've never written before.

I didn’t expect this life.

 I was going to bring law and order to the West. Teach my brother that the firm hand of justice -based on books, not guns - was the way of the future and that we didn't need the gunslingers and anarchy that colors this landscape.

Life has a way of turning things on its head, though. And so I find myself having become one of those very outlaw gunslingers I abhorred - I'm a natural (although I can see Tonto shaking his head in disagreement already) and it's my duty to maintain law and order here in this rugged, beautiful land.... 

"Look ahead, Ke-mo sah-bee."

 There he goes again, pretending he's the one in charge in this uneasy alliance we’ve formed. He forgets that he's lucky to have me on his side. I'm the brains of the operation, after all. If you ask Tonto why we're here, he'll start talking about destiny or....

 (Thwack.)

 "I told you, look ahead, Ke-mo sah-bee."

All right, perhaps I should listen to him on occasion. Possibly. It would save me from yet another embarrassing situation such as being caught by an errant tree-branch (then again, this is the frontier! Why is there such a large tree in my way, with miles of empty desert around us? And why does Silver seem so intent on walking just close enough so that a tree branch catches me in the face?

Silly horse. Sometimes I think he's truly intelligent, but then I realize that I've spent too long talking to Tonto.

Who is, at this very moment, conversing with my horse.

 Sighing, I dismount and take a moment to stretch my legs. This rugged country - and my home - I admit my years away caused me to forget how wildly beautiful it is. The heat is oppressive in summer, like nothing you've experienced elsewhere, but it's dry, and you adapt. You learn to breathe in the land and it starts to breathe you in.

Maybe that's how Tonto survived alone all this time. A man could go crazy out here if he's not too careful, but the more time I spend with Tonto, the more I realize that he's not really off with his spirits (or whatever inhabits the crow sitting on his head. And I know that makes me sound crazy, and maybe it's just a trick of the desert light, but one night, I swear I saw it move).

You see, this land has a way of making you see things differently.

When I was a boy, I believed anything was possible. My Dad was my hero, and my brother, well, growing up, he was my idol. Then of course we fell in love with the same girl, and that's the tried and true story that you hear about in all the old tales. Of course, if this was one of those stories then I would've settled down and married Rebecca, but there's work to be done first and I'm nothing if not a man of honor and deeds.

"You are a man standing in manure," Tonto interrupts my train of thought with his customary blunt wisdom.

"Thank you," I reply, grimacing. One thing I had forgotten about the West was the abundance of natural ... smells ... and the near-impossibility of ever being fully rid of them.

Silver starts sniffing at my boots and I shoe him away. As usual, he doesn't listen to me. Tonto seems to have a better relationship with Silver than I do, which isn't fair. He's my horse!

"He is not yours. He chooses you for a time but you do not own him."

"I know, I know," I said. Tonto has told me this many-a-time.

"The horse says we must go north."

"North?"

"Thataway," Tonto motions, as if I'm the one who suddenly has trouble understanding directions. (I do realize that 'north' is already a concession to me, and for a moment, I appreciate him all over again. He may be strange, but he is loyal, and I'd much rather have a loyal man at my side than one who merely pretends to be an honorable man whilst stabbing your brother in the back.)

“I thought we were heading east, following the tracks of the Douglas gang?”

Shaking his head, Tonto says, “No. The gang is long gone. Eaten by sinkhole. We go north.”

And just like that, our current hunt is over. I momentarily wonder how he knows this and then it seems obvious that Silver told him, but if I keep believing that, then...well, it's best not to think about it too much. Suffice to say that when I trust Tonto's intuition, or mysterious prophecies, I have already learned that they're 90% correct. Well, 75%, at least. On a good day.

Will today be a good day? Shaking the manure off my foot, I wonder.

“Follow that smell!” Tonto declares and charges off ahead.

 The sun climbs higher, as Tonto and I plod along on foot, Silver being slightly temperamental today. There are times when he doesn't let me ride him, particularly after I had tried to get both Tonto and myself on his back. After being bucked off very ungraciously, I found myself in the dirt and Tonto had managed to be thrown on top of a tree. (A very comfortable-looking tree, if you ask me.) I had dusted off my hat and apologized most sincerely but Silver didn't let me ride him again for several hours.

Now, I know the relationship between a man and his steed is one of utmost importance, but I am not quite there yet. Like all things in this harsh environment, trust takes time.

 And after everything I've been through lately, well, forgive me if I'm disinclined to trust most.  I've learned that power and greed can corrupt even an upstanding law-maker, and, well, there's a reason I walked away.

 I hear the crack of a shot long before I see anything, and as I drop to the ground I see Tonto is already way ahead of me, wriggling on his belly to a nearby rocky outcrop.  A telltale puff of smoke wafts into the air, distant, but when the sky is a brilliant and cloudless blue, it's hard to miss.  Crouching in half, I run to join Tonto at his vantage-point.

 The sight below us is grim indeed.  A dozen or so horses - not so uncommon a sight out here - but in most cases, the animals are well-fed and cared for, being vital to our survival.  Not these horses.  They're penned in, so thin I can see the skeletons of most of them, covered in a sheen of dirt and several have weeping sores. 

 I'd never seen such a miserable herd.

 A dusty looking bandit sits nearby, playing with his gun.  The source of the shot we heard, I'm sure, and just as sure I know it's my duty to apprehend him and free the miserable creatures.  But I do know to look before I leap, so, placing a warning hand on Tonto's arm (lest he get the idea of rushing in), I adjust my mask and creep closer.

 There.  Hidden out of view are several more men, relaxing in the middle of the day, presumably to avoid the heat.  However, I know this type of outlaw, and were we to make a move now, they'd be alert and on their feet in seconds.  Tonto and I may be an incredible team already but it does require a lot of planning.  (And several hours of negotiation.  You don't know what I had to promise him to get him to agree to our train heist, but once I'd mentioned blowing up the bridge, he was completely on board.  Funny that.)

 "This is a bad place."  Tonto has magically appeared by my side.  I nervously glance around for Silver, but he has the incredible ability to blend in with the landscape and even I can't figure out where he's hidden himself right now.

 "It is," I agree.  "I wonder what they're doing with those horses?"  I don't expect an answer; I'm musing aloud.  Were these part of Butch Cavendish's gang?  Deplete the supply of horses and force everyone onto the railroad?  But then why not just kill the horses?  Why keep them here, in such poor condition, where they're no use to anyone at all?

 It's these questions that keep me wondering during the next few hours as we wait for the sun to set.  After all, the best cover is one of darkness.   “We move when the canoes are high,” Tonto said, and in the absence of a moon, I trusted his reading of the stars.  We squat beneath the protection of boulders, careful not to move too far or talk too loudly.  This is the downside of justice: it’s not always adventure and shoot-outs, but often long hours of preparation.

At least I’m not alone.

The heat and long days make me weary, and I find myself being shaken awake by my guide when indeed, the constellation of the canoes is high overhead.  It must have been past midnight.  I could hear snores from afar, the brigands also having succumbed to the need to sleep. 

“We go quietly,” I remind Tonto.  “Open the corral and let them stampede.  It’s the safest…”  But of course, Tonto is already gone.

I contemplate removing the mask – after all, it’s difficult to see me anyway at night – but if I’m to embrace this new identity of lone ranger, I need to maintain the legend.  I do leave the hat behind, though.  No sense in making myself a bigger target.  I quickly vault over the rocks and scurry down the embankment, my eyes searching in vain for the crow-head that should be bobbing amongst the horses.  I don’t see him, but I do spot the glint of the sentry’s gun.  The man is sleeping but one unfamiliar noise and I’m sure he’ll be awake and trigger-happy. 

There.  The sound of wooden palings being pushed.  The horses are nervous, excited.  They’re starting to move.  I at last reach the enclosure, the spot we’d earlier identified, and am gratified to find Tonto on the other side.  Together, we push; it’s not a gate but it’s certainly the weakest spot away from prying eyes.

One horse, a dappled brown and white fellow, seems particularly anxious and keeps nudging Tonto’s back. 

“Wait,” he hisses.

We’ve removed three palings and are about to start on the fourth when I hear the telltale click of a gun being cocked.  I freeze.

“You’ve got ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t blow you away,” the voice of the sentry sneers.  “And that’s only ‘cause I’m feeling kinda generous tonight!”

 I back away from the fence and lift my hands in surrender.  “Good evening, kind sir!” I reply, my best smile on my face.  “I didn’t see you over there!   You see, my horse went lame and I’ve been wandering around out here for hours.  Forgive me, but when I saw your horses, I couldn’t help but believe that was my salvation.”  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Tonto is still feverishly working and the sentry hasn’t spotted him yet.  I step further away and continue talking.  “Surely God sent me to this place, where there was an abundance of horses that would take me home to my wife and six children who must be frantic with worry by this time….”

Bang!

He shoots the dirt in front of my feet.  I shriek in mock-terror (I assure you, I’m far too experienced to be shaken by mere gunfire) and jump back.  “Now what did you do that for?  I apologise for what seems to be an attempt to borrow your horse without your permission, but I assure you….”

“Stop talking, lawman.”  He spits onto the ground.  “Yeah, I know a Texas Ranger when I see one.  Now keep those hands up and march your way over here and we’re gonna have a little chat before we decide just what we’re gonna do with you….”

The rest of the camp is waking up; they’ll be here in seconds.  And we can’t afford to take on all of them.  So I do the only thing I can think of – I whistle.

Thundering hooves gallop down the hill and I see my white beauty leap into the corral.  Within seconds, Silver is helping Tonto break down the last of the palings and oh, it’s magical, as the herd stampedes.  I duck as the bandit fires, not knowing if he’s aiming for me, Silver, the horses, or all of the above.  It doesn’t matter because the horses are free, and I, well, I’m still rather trapped….

Out of nowhere, a dark shape leaps onto me and seems to swallow me up.  I feel like I’m being carried along in a wave of movement – is it feathers?  But surely not! – and feel the gentle brush of a horse’s tail along with a strong, human grip on my arm.

And, yet again, a face full of an odor that is distinctly reminiscent of manure….

When I come to my senses, I’m backwards on Silver, my arms wrapped around his mid-section, my face in his, well, for lack of a polite word, his ass.  Tonto is behind me and riding for all he’s worth, seemingly leading the entire herd of horses deep into the desert and far away from those who had tormented them.  We ride for what seems an hour, with no one coming after us.  After all, we just stole their only transport.

When we finally come to a stop, I dismount and check myself for damage.  Nothing.  Aside from a few hundred bruises from riding backwards and face-down, that is, but I’m  more than happy to discover there’s not even a trace of a bullet-wound.  Luck was once again on our side.

“Your hat,” Tonto says, and presents it to me.

I take it from him and meet his eyes.  “Thank you,” I say, sincerely.  “I don’t know how, but you rescued me back there, and….”  Well, there’s nothing more to say.  I want to shake his hand but it doesn’t seem quite right.

He heaves a world-weary sigh.  “It is my burden to protect you, Ke-mo sah-bee."  But there’s a glint in his eye and I know he doesn’t – entirely – mean it. 

I make camp while Tonto sends the horses on their way.  He whispers a few words I can’t understand but I know he’s wishing them well.  I wish we could keep them, but with few supplies, and Silver to look out for, they’re much better foraging on their own.  Perhaps they’ll stumble across a town with new owners to take them in.

One horse remains.  The Pinto that seemed so interested in Tonto earlier. 

“He doesn’t want to go?” I ask. 

Tonto shakes his head.  “He goes where he is needed.  He is needed with me.”  He pats the horse firmly on the rump and it nuzzles its head into Tonto’s side. 

“He’s staying with you?  But…but you rejected the last horse I gave you!”  It had been a sore point between us and I still wasn’t quite over it.  Ridiculous, really, to think a man could survive in the desert without a horse – but then again, Tonto has been doing that since birth.  I have to stop being so narrow-minded.  The modern man’s rules don’t apply out here. 

“You chose that horse,” Tonto explained.  “This horse chose me.” He nods his head, or maybe it’s the crow.  “Better this way.”

 I can’t disagree with that. 

“Well, he needs a name, you know,” I offer as a sign of reconciliation.  “Something bold, something grand.”

“Like your horse?”

He has a point.

I let it drop and know the name will come in time.  As things always do.  It’s Tonto’s way, to listen to nature, to let things happen as they’re supposed to, and I am beginning to realize that his way of seeing the world, well, it’s not so strange after all.

We learn from each other and, all things considered, I’m a lucky man to have him by my side.

 


End file.
